


love is a condition of the head

by longingly



Series: the visionary & the architect [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aromantic, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26286439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longingly/pseuds/longingly
Summary: The Oracle is not very nice to Emet-Selch, but that only seems to make him more fervent in his attentions. She is very, very curious about how far that goes.and you dream that you are hollowand you dream that you are wholereconstruct what you rememberand it comes out in pieces-- you are never ready - the golden palominos
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: the visionary & the architect [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909951
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection





	love is a condition of the head

**Author's Note:**

> title from allie x - downtown
> 
> [this is what the oracle looks like.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/355632201804546052/749478583348625498/unknown.png)
> 
> [this is her description.](https://feelyouinmybones.tumblr.com/oracle)

The Oracle traces a cool finger along a thin stripe of red, letting her nail dig into the welt of it. Blood smears around her navy skin, and she relishes in Emet-Selch’s hoarse and shattered cry as it echoes off the walls of her room:

“ _Please_.”

It earns him the calm, languid blink of a predator. 

“Your request must come with specificity,” she says, slowly, and it is not so much of a drawl as it is _deliberate_. Every move, every word, every breath peels back the surface to reveal the oily underbelly of The Oracle’s deep and unending patience; an inky well. Fathomless. 

The crisscross of wounds across Emet-Selch’s back and flank display the endurance of two in a matching pair of his and hers. A test.

He grits his teeth, unwilling to meet her empty eyes as he twists in his cuffs, arms stretched above him in screaming agony. His bare toes hardly touch the ground. How long has she left him here, trussed up like an animal? Time escapes meaning. Being Unsundered means eternity, and yet moments in her presence dilate it entirely. 

“Please,” he starts– tasting copper on his tongue from when she’d bitten him the last time they’d kissed, tonguing at the wound on his cheek– “ _again_.”

The Oracle hums approvingly, and the tune is as familiar to him as the sting of the thin, icy switch in her palm. Tendrils of chilled air lazily wind around it, serpentine. Ice-aspected aether. In a moment of pain-laced hysteria, Emet-Selch contemplates the merits of informing her of the irony.

It is so rare that she is tender, but it is with a tender tongue that she laps at the deepest of the gouges on his back, tasting the sticky red that has painted her face like a savage creature’s, breathing him in deeply before pulling herself away. As though she might consume him if she were to stay a second longer.

The feral thing inside her settles with the distance, and The Oracle traces his back with the magicked switch for a moment, just to see him fight against his baser instincts to squirm away from the cold.

“It isn’t often you ask me for things that I can grant you with any satisfaction,” she says, flat. “You would have me be who I am not.”

Even with sweat-slick bangs and flushed cheeks and eyes hazed over with lust and pain and mayhaps an undercurrent of rage (although The Oracle cannot discern at who) Emet-Selch remains himself: his lips can still pull into that familiar, lovely smile, insufferable as it is. “It is… not often we speak of _satisfaction_ , my dear.” 

Then the switch runs over the swell of his ass, where the newest welts lie, and his spent cock twitches back to life even as he hisses.

“I See,” The Oracle says, and as she raises her hand to strike him with a cold, even hand to mete out punishment divine, Visions come to her unbidden, seeping into her lungs like smoke.

 _You’ve done this before_ , they say, and with a cruel eye she wets her lips and watches him _suffer_ so beautifully on her behalf, to bear the weight of this pain for her at _his_ request. 

_You’ve done this before, you have been this judge, this jury, and you will be the executioner,_ they say, and The Oracle cannot differentiate the taste of her own blood from Emet-Selch’s when she bites her own tongue hard enough to swallow down a prophecy she does not recall.

**Author's Note:**

> join fellow writers and readers in [the bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)!!


End file.
